


I'm Not A Hero (I'm A Liar)

by Just_A_Simple_Writer



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (thats my favourite tag :), Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Not Really Character Death, background mikeoliver, its not explicitly stated theyre dating tho so i didnt tag it, they all have superpowers and it's cool and sexy of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27686342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_A_Simple_Writer/pseuds/Just_A_Simple_Writer
Summary: Gerry darts over to his side. He’s been fighting Distortion, sure, but he doesn’t want him to die.“Don’t,” Distortion tries, but Gerry ignores him, pulling the burning fabric off his face.The blue eyes that stare back at him are so achingly familiar.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> guess what? another fic based on a discord conversation! yay!
> 
> also im shit at coming up with superhero names so for anyone confused:  
> Michael is Distortion  
> Gerry is Beholder  
> Gertrude is the Archvist  
> Adelard Dekker is Pyre  
> Mike is Lightning  
> Oliver probably has one but its not mentioned in this fic and so i havent come up with one. just like. imagine one in your head

Gerry throws himself to the left, narrowly avoiding a blot of white-hot electricity from Lightning’s fingers. This is the first real fight he’s been in for almost a month, and he’s out of practice.

He’s been spending too much time trying to track down the villain who calls himself Distortion. The man’s been avoiding him, and Gerry doesn’t like it. He has a suspicion that he’s planning something.

But he’s here now, all neon colours and shifting illusions.

He and Lightning are outnumbered three to two, but they’re not afraid to play dirty, and honestly? Gerry doesn’t trust _his_ backup not to accidentally take him out with a stray shot. Or on purpose, knowing the Archivist. She doesn’t think much of him.

So, maybe he’s a little distracted. That _doesn’t_ mean he’s going to let Lightning fry him, though.

He doesn’t know why Distortion isn’t running, this time, but the man hasn’t targeted him once. He’s used to spending their fights in a haze of illusion, barely knowing what’s real, but this time…

Nothing. He narrowly avoids another bolt of electricity and decides that he’s done letting Distortion run. He wants answers.

The Archivist and Pyre seem to be focusing on Lightning, and from the way they’re moving Gerry’s pretty certain that Distortion _is_ messing with them. He’s not sure they can see him at all.

That’s fine. Just means kicking his ass is up to Gerry.

Gerry ducks behind the nearest dumpster and builds a little flame in the palm of his hand. The fire takes more out of him than the other powers he can utilise, so he uses it as little as possible, but this is as good a time as any.

Distortion isn’t looking at him. He takes a breath and throws the fireball.

It’s not big enough to actually hurt the man, but he stumbles, surprised, and Gerry suspects his illusions are faltering.

That’s the point, really. Drawing Distortion’s attention long enough for one of the others to take down Lightning.

He expects retaliation, for his vision to blur and his head to spin, but nothing happens. Distortion just stares at him for a moment and then looks back at the others.

Fine. Gerry will just have to turn it up a notch.

He throws another ball of fire, this one a little bigger, and tries his best to get closer. Distortion is watching him, now, but he just backs away as Gerry approaches.

This is just frustrating.

Gerry needs to take him down.

The fire approach isn’t working, so he takes one of Pyre’s toys out of his pocket, instead. A tiny explosive, designed to stun its target.

He pulls the pin and counts to three, and then throws it.

It misses its target, but it has its intended effect. Distortion stumbles, bringing his hands up to press over his ears, and Gerry can finally get close enough to engage.

He’s better at hand-to-hand, really. He’s had more practice and it doesn’t take as much out of him.

Distortion can match him, most days, but today he goes down almost immediately and Gerry slams him into the concrete, harder than he really meant to.

He’s sure it must hurt, and Distortion groans quietly.

Something about it sounds far too familiar, but Gerry presses that thought down.

For the first time today Distortion actually fights back, though he seems reluctant. His blows are slow, weaker than usual, and Gerry wonders if he’s injured.

It doesn’t matter, or shouldn’t. He’s a villain, and it’s Gerry’s job to take him down. By any means necessary.

It’s almost a relief when he feels his head swim in the way that means Distortion is trying to use illusions, to confuse him. The world around them blurs, but they’re close enough together that Distortion can’t get away.

He’s trying to throw Gerry off, and for a moment he succeeds. Gerry slams into a building, just about managing to land on his feet. It hurts, but he brushes it off, casting around for Distortion.

He’s vanished into the blurry world, but Gerry’s been fighting him for years, and he knows what to look for, how to spot it.

He builds fire between his hands, looking around, trying to make sense of the shifting colours and shapes.

And then something out of place. A flash of movement that seems a little too coordinated.

He throws the fire, and the world shatters back to normal.

Distortion is slumped against the nearest wall, trying to bat out the flames that have caught in his suit. His whole mask seems to be on fire, and Gerry’s sure he must be in a lot of pain.

Still, he’s not taking the mask off.

Gerry darts over to his side. He’s been fighting Distortion, sure, but he doesn’t want him to _die_.

“Don’t,” Distortion tries, but Gerry ignores him, pulling the burning fabric off his face.

The blue eyes that stare back at him are so achingly familiar.

“Michael?” he says, disbelieving. There are burns on his face and his chest is heaving. He looks terrified.

Michael's lips form words, but he doesn’t seem to be able to say anything at all, and for a moment Gerry is frozen, unsure what to do.

He’s never frozen before.

“Beholder,” someone snarls from behind him, and he distantly recognises the Archivist’s voice.

He ignores her once, and again, and then he hears an all-too-familiar beeping.

_Shit_.

“Michael,” he tries to say, again, and then there’s a hand fisted in the back of his suit and he’s being dragged backwards, the Archivist’s voice snapping in his ear that he’s stupid, that he’s going to get himself killed.

They’re not completely out of range of the bomb when it goes off, and they’re caught up in a cloud of dust and debris. Gerry nearly gets knocked off his feet by a lump of flying tarmac.

By the time the dust has settled there’s no sign of either Michael or Lightning, and Gerry’s heart begins to sink.

Michael was injured. Michael was injured _because of him_. He couldn’t have made it out before the bomb went off.

Gerry tries to tell himself that if Lightning made it out then there’s a chance Michael did as well, but somehow he knows it’s not true.

Michael is dead. Sweet, kind, innocent Michael is _dead_ , and it’s _his fault_.

He doesn’t listen to whatever the Archivist tells him in what she calls a debrief. He just wants to get home, holding the tiniest hope that Michael will be there when he gets back, that they can sort this out.

But he’s not, of course. The apartment is cold and dark, and Gerry is alone.

Michael doesn’t return that evening, though Gerry sits up until the sun rises, waiting, hoping.

It’s a false hope. Michael is gone.

And it’s all Gerry’s fault.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting things spread apart is for cowards i want all my serotonin in one go

“He destroyed almost two streets today. Nothing left but a crater.”

Michael carefully puts what’s left of his lunch back onto his plate, appetite forgotten. He doesn’t need to ask who Mike’s talking about.

“Every hero in the city and then some are after him.”

“I know,” Michael says, and doesn’t look over.

Mike laughs, harsh and derisive. “I thought you’d be interested.”

Michael just closes his eyes, trying to stop the sting of tears. It’s his fault that this is happening. Innocent people are dying because of _him_.

“Leave him alone,” Oliver says.

“It’s not _my_ boyfriend out there making life hell for respectable people like us.”

_He’s not my boyfriend_ Michael wants to say.

“You? Respectable?” Oliver snorts. “Like hell you are.”

“Asshole,” Mike tells him, and the couch groans as he sits down.

“He’s not…” Michael blurts out, and his voice cracks, cutting him off.

Oliver sighs and a moment later his arm is around Michael's shoulders. “I know.”

“If I could just talk to him…”

“No,” Oliver says. “He nearly killed you.”

“He didn’t mean to.”

“Even if he didn’t,” Mike calls, from the sofa, “he’s gone off the rails. He might not even recognise you.”

“Shut up,” Oliver tells him.

“I’m just saying.”

“Don’t.”

“It’s fine,” Michael says, reluctantly opening his eyes. “I know. I get it.”

“You’re still healing,” Oliver says gently. “You need time.”

“I know.”

“Good.” Oliver ruffles his hair and goes to join Mike on the couch, starting an argument about some TV show Michael's never watched.

He just stares out of the window and tries to tune them out. He can see smoke rising, curling towards the sky, and something in his gut curls too.

They don’t have time. Every day the death toll rises.

And it’s his fault. If only he’d been more careful, if only he hadn’t gotten involved in that last fight, if only…

If only he hadn’t been so stupid.

He misses Gerry. He misses watching movies on Friday nights, curled together on their couch. He misses ordering takeaway on lazy evenings. He misses their apartment, Gerry’s band posters on the wall. He misses the smell of cigarette smoke and old books, listening to Gerry sing in the shower. He misses …

He misses Gerry.

But he can’t go home. He doesn’t even know if the apartment even survived.

The others wouldn’t let him even if it had. They think Gerry wants him dead.

Michael doesn’t know what to think. He hates the thought of Gerry wanting to hurt him, to hurt _anyone_ , but he doesn’t know why else Gerry would do this.

He had always been so gentle.

Michael still loves him.

Whatever the reason, he knows it’s his fault, and he’s certain he could stop it if only he could talk to Gerry. Gerry would listen to him.

It’s a big day when he can finally walk again, though every step still hurts and he’s forced to lean heavily on his crutches. Still, progress is progress and he starts making plans, though he keeps them to himself.

He just has to be patient, though it’s hard when every day more people die, more buildings are destroyed.

He's going to put things right, though. He has to.

Every day that passes he grows more impatient, until finally, _finally_ , Mike and Oliver both go out on the same day and he’s free.

He doesn’t have much time, and he’s exhausted even by the trek down the stairs and out of their apartment block.

But he presses on.

Finding Gerry is the easiest part, actually. He just has to follow the smoke.

It’s chaos when he gets there. The streets are choked with rubble, flames licking up towards the sky.

He seems to be alone, though. There are no shouts, no fighting.

Where is everyone?

And then he finds himself blind.

For a moment he stops, fear creeping in. He’d heard the rumours, that Gerry’s powers had been growing, changing, but he’d thought them greatly exaggerated.

It seems not. He can’t give up, though. He won’t.

He calls out as he limps through piles of unseen rubble, for Gerry, for an end to all this.

The only reply is the crackling of the fire.

Is Gerry even here at all?

And then…

“Michael?”

He barely hears his own name over the flames, but even the briefest whisper is enough to set his heart fluttering.

“Gerry!” he calls, into the darkness.

The crackle of flames begins to die down, until Michael is standing in a silent street, and this time he hears Gerry’s voice as clear as a bell.

“Michael.”

There’s no anger. No hate. Just disbelief, and something not unlike hope.

Footsteps echo loud in the silence, and Michael could cry from the first feather-light touch of a leather-clad hand against his cheek.

“I thought you were dead.”

“No,” Michael whispers, and his eyes start to sting.

He sinks to the ground and Gerry comes with him, moving ever closer until his arms are around Michael's shoulders and they’re holding each other, alone in a silent, empty street.

“I’m so sorry,” Gerry says, and then he’s crying, sobs asking his whole body as he clings to Michael like a drowning man.

Michael's vision is beginning to return, Gerry coming slowly into focus in the way that the world becomes lighter as the dawn breaks, and he finally starts to cry.

“I’ve missed you.”

“God,” Gerry says, cupping Michael's cheek. He’s unmasked, face stained with tears. “I’ve missed you too. I thought you were dead. I thought you were _dead_ , Michael.”

Michael doesn’t know what to say, faced with the raw terror in Gerry’s voice. All this time he’d been in mourning.

“I’m sorry,” is all he can say. “I’m here. I’m alright.”

Gerry laughs, wet and watery but still so joyful. “I know,” he says. “I know.”

“I won’t leave you again,” Michael promises. “I won’t.”

“Good,” Gerry says, hands fisted tight in Michael's shirt. “You know, I…”

He laughs again, raw and relieved. “I thought you were dead and all I could think was that I’d never told you I loved you.”

Michael's heart floods with so much emotion he can barely breathe, and he tries his best to smile through the tears gathering in his eyes. “Tell me now.”

“I love you.” The answer is instant, unhesitating. “I love you, Michael Shelley. Distortion. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Michael says, and he’s laughing. “I love you and I always have.”

Gerry wipes his eyes with the back of his glove, opening and closing his mouth like he doesn’t know what to say.

“Gay,” is what he goes with, in the end. “I wanna kiss you.”

Michael smiles so wide it aches. “Then kiss me.”

And he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont worry gerry only killed 9999 innocent people he can still be redeemed

**Author's Note:**

> i'm also going to post this on my [tumblr](https://jaysworlds.tumblr.com/)


End file.
